Up Through The Ashes
by yllektra
Summary: Angelica Fanshaw's struggle and life as seen through the eyes of a man in love with her, Edward Sexby's eyes.


_Just continuing to crosspost my fiction from my lj community here! expect to be spammed :P_

**Title:**Up Through The Ashes  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything! :P  
**Fandom:** The Devil's Whore (TV, Mini)

**Characters/Pairings:** Edward Sexby/Angelica Fanshaw - Sexby's POV  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** General fic - angst  
**Summary:** Whenever I left, I left you married to another. Wife at his hands. Whenever I left it was because I had lost you one more time. I had given you up for one more time, both because I didn't deserve you and because you were happy that way.

**Author's Notes:** The Devil's Whore is one of the few mini tv-serieses that have managed to move me. But I couldn't help but love the flawed, tormented characters and the exciting, tragic plots. Edward's love for Angelica is nothing short of epic even as they both are in the middle of ruins and ashes.

* * *

_{…And earth shall burn alive with the fire that consumes whatever's left of me  
And ashes will rise to conceal the shame that will devour what you must not see}_

**Up Through The Ashes**

I call myself a soldier, a fighter. I call myself a Christian, though I probably shouldn't.

I am not a god-fearing man. I used to think that I was, but after everything that I have witnessed and seen, I think not, anymore.

I am not a pious or generous man.

I have lost count of the souls I have sent down under.

My blade preceded my judgment and blood drowned what was left of my conscience.

Oh yes, I have lost count of the souls I have sent down under and somehow I overlooked the fact that I was condemning my own soul in the process, as well.

I have drifted through life aimlessly. Always going where war broke out.

Going after it instead of running away from it; like a wise man would.

But I am not wise. I never presumed to be.

War gives you experience, it hardens you, it numbs you but it doesn't make you wiser, for the knowledge you acquire is not of life but of death.

How long does it take for someone to die by a gunshot?

How long does it take to die by the blade?

Which part of the human body gives more agonizing pain when pierced?

I knew all those things.

Too well, perhaps.

I knew how to make a death swift.

And I killed and I maimed and I butchered wanting the world outside of me to be restless and wild and dangerous and painful like the one I kept within me.

For I was restless and wild and dangerous and tortured.

I was born a simple man to a simple family.

Common, unimportant. With no property or title.

And I delude not myself.

This is how I am going to die, too.

A Common, poor, and simple man.

But I don't want to die unimportant.

I want to make a difference even if it means blood on my hands and guilt on my soul.

For I have no shame for what I have done and I never will.

I am only what circumstances have made of me and I would do it all over again if I had to.

I do what I must to survive, because lowly and grim as it is, I value life, my life.

Even more so since I met you.

Angelica Fanshawe. The Lady of the court.

Radiant, seemingly flawless, youthful.

You have owned me, unknowingly; unappreciatively from the first minute I laid my eyes on you.

You didn't notice me.

You didn't see me, for I was no sight for your eyes.

I was not worthy of you.

I was forged in misery and in battle, mixed with blood and sweat and the tears of those whom I killed, and you were born of honey and cream and velvet, all materials beyond my reach.

I did not deserve you.

I knew it, I still do.

But somehow, someway my heart held hope that that could change- if not for the others- then just in your eyes.

It would be enough for me.

To be worthy in your eyes.

Worthy of your gaze and your touch and your voice.

Worthy of your hand, if you would have me.

Then again maybe I was fooling myself.

A man in love is of no use in battle.

A man in love is lost at times of war, because it makes him weak.

But maybe this is not exactly accurate.

A man is lost when he is in love, because he keeps thinking of what will happen to his wife if anything happens to him.

He loses his concentration.

He is afraid and in grief as if something has already happened to him.

But I was not like that for me.

Whenever I went to war I went peacefully, willingly.

War was the only thing I knew how to do.

I had perfected its art.

Just holding the blade or the rifle in my hands brought me clarity.

I had a clear purpose, a target in the shape of a body a few feet away from me and it kept me focused.

For those minutes or hours I need not think, I need not feel, I need not miss anything or anyone.

Screaming and fumes and blood made everything else seem fuzzy.

It kept my mind occupied.

And I needed that.

Because whenever I left, I left you married to another.

Wife at someone else's hands. In someone else's arms.

Whenever I left; it was because I had lost you once more. I had given you up for one more time, both because I didn't deserve you and because you were happy that way.

For I did not wish you ill.

You had no concept of me.

You did not know me.

You only knew me as your shadow.

The man who fought the wars you weren't supposed to think about or know of.

The man who nodded and protected and bowed, but spoke not of the battle inside of him.

Who spoke not of the feelings you had awakened within him.

You were the foreground.

Light, vibrant, stunning and I was the background that supports and outlines and provides you with the canvas to illuminate, to create, to shine.

I was yours then as I am now, still.

And there in the arms of another, you found yourself.

And here in the bloody, gruesome hands of battle, I found mine.

Away from you.

Away from the person I had grown to love more than life itself.

Through my scarred face, my love shone.

Like a light beneath this façade, this mask that kept my true face hidden. A face soaked in sorrow and tears and shame for everything I had come to know and do and become.

And I was there when you were broken.

The second time.

I was there to witness your despair and taste your agony.

And there never was a more intense torment for me.

I wasn't there the first time.

When the child you used to be, was ripped out of you violently, as you bore witness to how cruel a man can be, orderind the death of your loved one. How war makes a beast out of you and you dare call it justice and fairness.

You said farewell to your first husband then. The love of your teenage years.

He was a child as were you. But that didn't stop death from taking him.

For Death is ruthless and stops not in the face of youth or innocence. It hesitates not when cries and pleadings resound.

Death is universal, fierce and makes no distinctions. It doesn't matter if you are good or bad, for Death comes to all men indiscriminately.

And then I lost you. I was afraid you were incarcerated to some unbearable, obscure prison.

I feared you were dead and then what would become of me?

I lost my self in blood again.

I felt its coppery taste in my mouth and its sticky awfulness on my hands.

I wandered alone, my whole existence in agony.

On the brink of dying, till you came.

Till you came like a storm and set me free, making everything crumble to the ground, along with the makeshift wall around my heart.

I thought that, maybe, you saw it in my eyes then.

That I was saved not just from these men, but from myself as well. From the self-destructive hole I had fallen into.

You looked different.

Beautiful like a poem I had never read, beautiful as always and dare I speak it?

You looked more attainable. Accessible even.

You were a leveler after all.

You had contended so, yourself.

And what is a leveler if not one who believes all men and women to be equal?

What is a leveler if not someone who can look upon you and not down on you?

I never felt looked down on by you, though. Maybe that's why I felt even less worthy of you.

I wasn't worthy of such kindness.

Even if that very same kindness is foolish and misguided.

I was proud of you, you know?

Even though you weren't mine to hold, I still held you dear.

I respected you like no other man had respected any other woman. I believe that.

I was so proud of you. There, at the prison.

You were a fool of course, if I may say so my Lady, but you showed me just how gentle and thoughtful and concerned you could be, even after you had been told that such matters shouldn't concern you.

You were genuinely regretful and that amazed me, for I had not seen any other woman as brave and as benevolent as you.

And it made me wonder would the world show its kind face to you too?

What happened to you while you were lost?

Did you wander aimlessly and miserably like I did?

Were we united at least in that?

And did anyone else touch you? Were you harmed? Were you humiliated?

Treated not, like the lady that you are?

Did anyone show you no respect, no tenderness and no love?

It made me seethe with anger, with rage.

I would not have it.

But you were next to me, there in the woods, and it didn't matter.

You were as I remembered, even prettier with the healthy touch of the sun upon your face and your hair down.

You looked free, yet unsatisfied.

This was not the life for you. You knew it, I knew it.

We both knew it, but it was the only life I could provide you.

I had no roots lack for the ones I had laid on your feet, at your disposal.

My heart was yours to command, even though I refused to let it show.

_"I am changed"_ you told me.

_"I killed a man. Nothing remains of who I was"._

I knew it was true. You were not as naive anymore, though you were still kind.

You were still the single, most breath-taking creature I had ever seen in my life.

I had to have you in my life even if it meant being your servant always and not your equal. Even if it meant I would never be someone you would grow to respect and like or even love.

And through this, I followed you.

And I watched you become strong and daring yet again.

And my heart hammered in my chest everyday.

And I watched you fall into another's hands once more.

Once again you had slipped my touch, you had escaped my desperate, invisible grip.

One that had no strings attached.

But you were happy. In his arms you were happy and he was happy too.

And he was a fine man, Thomas Reinsborough.

So good at heart, that it made me feel so horrible that I wanted to rip his heart out for taking you from me.

It made me feel guilty that I was on the verge of grabbing you against your will from inside his arms and put you into mine.

I wanted so bad to have you, to hold you, to feel you.

Even if it would mean feeling your venom instead of the nectar you would give to the one you truly loved.

Even if it would be you giving me your hatred and contempt instead of your affection.

I wanted so bad to feel you, even if it would be risking losing your respect forever.

But I didn't. This was not the man I wanted to be.

This was not the man I wanted you to see.

I guess I still had some dignity and pride left after all.

I like to think that they were mine all along but maybe that was your own doing as well.

Your benevolence instilled into me...seeping through my skin the closer I got to you.

Like an aroma that permeates everything and overwhelms you.

Did it dazzle me? Was I intoxicated?

Did it blind me to my purpose?

And did I really have a purpose before I saw you?

I went from battle to battle, killing, ripping apart, shedding blood and creating widows without consideration, without real malice either.

I thought that was the way of the world. This big machine and I was a cog. I was only trying to be a strong cog. Or at least stronger than most...

I was a fighter, a survivor because that was all I had ever learned to be.

For there is no justice and no liberty in this world that is free.

There is only the liberty and the justice that you fight for with your weapons and feed with your blood and sweat.

Tears have no importance. It's only blood, your anguish, your pain what might make a difference.

And sometimes not even that... But you are not supposed to know that my Lady.

You are not supposed to get in touch with the ugliness and the vileness that is this world.

Thomas did a god job protecting you but when he was lost, I thought it was my time to step up and replace him.

If not in your heart or bed, at least in your shadow... Again. So I stayed by your side and I endured.

And I bit my lips and clenched my chest wherein my heart hammered and I bound my time till I asked for your hand in marriage and though you declined at first, you finally came around.

I don't know if it was gratitude solely or something more. I hoped more. And I was a patient man. I could wait forever if I had to.

But days passed by and you didn't love me back.

Did I lose my faith then? Was my spirit broken?

I don't know but I do know that this was the first time I came back from a battle and didn't feel like a winner anymore.

My limp crashed, my throat dry, my eyes fierce.

I was surprised you recognized me or even cared to.

No triumph there.

Everything was slowly crumbling to the ground all around me. My beliefs, my ideals, my idols.

Everyone is faulty and flawed it seems. Even you my Lady.

Even you, the sole person I held so high.

You had been naïve, gullible.

You fell prey to your own disillusionment and allowed yourself to be tricked into a mockery. Thinking you were in love with a man who only wanted to make a whore out of you, driven by none other than Master Jolliffe.

I could give up then.

After all, it was your choice and I had learned to respect you and your decisions, but I couldn't stop myself from coming to your rescue.

I couldn't help myself as I salvaged you from his filthy hands and sank my sword in him cripple though I was.

It took a while till you recovered from the shock, my Lady. And I was there to help you. To stand by you, for I had been the only one to stand by you through anything.

I had seen the best and the worst of you and I still loved you.

Because the real person that you were shone through and your truth and your fortitude mesmerized me.

And even if I tried I could never forsake you.

And neither could you it seems. For the first time in my lame, tormented existence I got what I wished for; for once.

You loved me that night and it was the best night of my life.

And looking back on everything we went through, everything I experienced, everything I shared with you and everything I went through alone, I have no regrets.

I would do the same if I was given the chance and I would take nothing back.

Because life is a battle and love is a journey both excruciating and fascinating. Equal parts blood, sorrow and happiness and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Because even though I am gone, there's two parts of me still there.

The one is the part of me you kept with you, which was yours to begin with and the second is the part –of the both of us- of me that sprung out of you after the love we shared.

And for these I will be with you always.

And only now I dare call you, my Lady ….

My Love and claim you for all eternity…

~ Fin ~


End file.
